Ena had heard of Galbraith. ‘You said if the insurance company paid up? Why wouldn’t they?’
‘Security, or the lack of it, is one of the main reasons. They won’t pay out if the gallery’s security isn’t good enough – and that covers transporting paintings as well as in-house security. If everything is secure and the insurance investigators can’t find anything wrong, they pay out. Then, as I said, the premiums go up sky high.’
‘Either way, a small gallery can’t win.’
DI Powell shook his head. ‘La Galerie Unique has an exhibition of 18th Century masters, as well as modern paintings and jewellery on Saturday night. It’s invitation only and the owner has given me two tickets.’
‘And you’d like me to accompany you?’
‘What I’d like is immaterial. What I need comes from the top.’ Ena looked quizzically at the inspector. ‘I need you and Henry to go to the exhibition.’
Ena laughed. ‘And here’s me thinking you’d gone all arty on me.’
‘I’d be a fish out of water in an art gallery. Henry, on the other hand, having been an artist, wouldn’t. I was hoping he’d have a look at the paintings exhibited – and in particular, the Hogarth that went missing overnight. Giselle Aubrey is certain it’s authentic, but to put her godfather’s mind at rest, I suggested she had it authenticated by a professional before it went to auction. She’ll have to do that, but she’s adamant that she wouldn’t have it authenticated before the exhibition on Saturday night because word would get around and other sellers might pull out. Eventually, I persuaded her not to exhibit the Hogarth until Henry had looked at it.’
‘I can see why she’s worried.’ Ena frowned. ‘I’m sure Henry would enjoy the exhibition but it’s been a while since he was an artist. I don’t think he has painted seriously since before the war. But, you know Henry, he’ll do what he can.’
‘Thank him for me,’ Inspector Powell said. ‘You’ll like Giselle Aubrey, she’s a bit highly strung, but she’s a clever young woman. I hope for the sake of my friend that she isn’t mixed up in the thefts. I came away wondering whether she might know more about the Hogarth than she was letting on.’
Inspector Powell took two tickets for the Saturday night’s exhibition at the La Galerie Unique from his inside pocket and gave them to Ena. ‘I’m hoping that while Henry is looking at the paintings, you’ll have a look at the potential buyers for me.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘I don’t know. It’s an alien world to me. Art lovers are not the type of people I socialise with.’
‘And I socialise in the art world all the time,’ Ena said laughing. ‘Seriously though, if the gallery owner, who is an art dealer, can’t tell if it’s a forgery, how is Henry supposed to tell.’
‘I can see that would be a problem, if…’
‘What aren’t you telling me, Inspector?’
The DI looked sheepish. ‘Because the gallery owner isn’t an expert, she’s just starting out – and like I said, she’s adamant that she won’t have an accredited art expert in to authenticate the paintings before the opening on Saturday night, I might have led her to believe that before the war my friend Henry was something of an art expert and he would be able to tell if the painting was a forgery.’
Ena laughed. ‘Not much pressure on Henry then.’
‘It might be best not to tell him too much. On the other hand…’
‘Leave Henry to me. He’ll enjoy an evening at an art gallery, I know I will. And for me, it’ll be a chance to get dressed up,’ Ena said, waving the tickets in the air.
***
‘How do you fancy going out on Saturday night?’ Ena asked Henry. ‘We could have something to eat in Leicester Square or Soho and go to a preview night of a new exhibition at an art gallery.’ Ena fanned herself with the tickets Inspector Powell had given her.
‘Art gallery? Since when have you been interested in art?’
‘Since I was given free invitation only tickets to a viewing of art in a swish new gallery called La Galerie Unique in Covent Garden.’ Henry laughed. ‘I like art!’ Ena said, pretending to be offended. ‘I enjoyed the exhibition at The National Gallery last year. I was fascinated by the different kinds of paintings.’
‘You couldn’t wait to get out of the place and find a café.’
‘That was because it was in the middle of the afternoon on a very hot day and my feet were killing me. I needed to take the weight off them for a while, that’s all. Saturday there’ll be different works of art. As well as paintings there’ll be jewellery, and, it will be the first time this particular exhibition will be open to the public. Well, not the public, buyers and collectors. It’s in the evening so it’ll be cooler and I’ll wear comfortable shoes.’
Henry laughed again. ‘So, why exactly do you want to go on Saturday night?’
‘Inspector Powell wants you to look at the paintings to see if you can spot any forgeries, but the painting he really wants you to look at is a Hogarth that went missing for twenty-four hours. The gallery owner needs to know if it’s authentic before it’s added to the collection that’s going to be auctioned. It’s one of four paintings called Four Times Of The Day that’s being sold by The Savoy.’
‘Why authenticate only one. If it’s part of Four Times Of The Day, why not authenticate them all?’
‘Because three arrived at the gallery safely, but one went missing and turned up at the back of the hotel by the dustbins. A passer-by, or a member of an art theft gang, who knows – he didn’t stick around long enough to be questioned – took it to Bow Street Police Station. He said he’d found it.’
Henry put down his knife and fork. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, a number of paintings have been reported stolen in the past few months. The problem is, the owners didn’t know their paintings had been stolen because they’d been replaced by forgeries.’
Henry leaned back in his chair. ‘Good God!’
‘One painting was stolen from a private house while the owners were away on holiday, and another was stolen while it was in storage. The owners of that painting didn’t know until they moved into their new home.’
‘And that too was replaced by a forgery?’
‘Yes. And a painting was carried out of the German Embassy without anyone turning a hair. It was also replaced by a forgery which, Inspector Powell said, was also very good.’
‘And Powell wants me to take a look at the Hogarth that went missing?’
‘Yes. Would you be able to tell?’
‘He isn’t asking for much, your friend Inspector Powell.’ Ena tutted. ‘But, forged oils are quite easy to spot. There should be slight bumps or paint waves on a canvas. And if there’s a significant amount of texture, there’s a good chance the painting is authentic. A flat surface probably means it’s a forgery. The colours are often different too. Forgeries are a combination of new colours mixed together to make the paintings appear old. Also, old frames have an X or a H shape in the back, modern frames don’t. I won’t be able to see the back of the frames if they’re already being exhibited but then the back isn’t that difficult to reproduce anyway.’ Henry exhaled loudly. ‘Okay, we’ll go to the exhibition. Whether I’ll be able to tell if any of the paintings are forgeries is another matter.’
‘Inspector Powell said it was him or you, and you know a heck of a lot more about art than he does.’
Henry left the table and went out of the room. ‘I have a book on Hogarth. I’ll fish it out.’
Ena cleared the dishes and took them into the kitchen. By the time she’d washed up and returned to the sitting room, Henry had poured them both a glass of whisky and was flicking through the pages of a book about Hogarth.
‘I’m looking forward to going to the art exhibition,’ Ena said, picking up her glass and holding it at arms-length before sweeping the air with it and taking a drink. ‘It’ll make a change to get dressed up and mingle with the arty set of Covent Garden.’ She gasped. ‘I don’t have anythin
g to wear.’ Henry looked at her over the top of his glass. ‘What? I don’t have anything suitable! I’ll just have to buy something,’ she said, to which Henry laughed.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I’m nipping down to Oxford Street. I need something to wear to go to the art gallery tomorrow night, I won’t be long.’
‘I’ll come with you. It’s been quiet all morning. Besides, I don’t want you buying something your mother would wear.’
‘Cheeky b!’ Ena swiped Artie’s cup from his desk and took it and her own into the kitchen. ‘There’s really no need.’
‘Au contraire,’ Artie said, ‘there is every need.’
‘Alright, but no bullying me into buying something I’d look ridiculous in – and nothing too short.’
It was fun shopping with Artie. Apart from anything else, he loved shopping. Ena, on the other hand hated it, especially clothes shopping.
‘Ooo, look at this,’ Artie said, steering Ena past John Lewis to a small shop called a boutique. ‘This is new. And look at that fab frock in the window.’
‘I’m not wearing that!’ said, Ena, commenting on the orange, yellow and black striped mini-dress, white patent boots and boater. ‘Too short, I’m not a teenager.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d look like a bumblebee in it. A fat bumblebee too. Stripes going round the body makes anyone look bigger.’ She took a step back and viewed the outfit from a distance. ‘Or a Rugby player. If I looked down they’d think I was going into a scrum, not view paintings at an art gallery.’
‘That is only one dress. There’ll be dozens inside.’ Artie left Ena standing on the pavement and swanned into the shop. ‘What about this?’ he said when Ena joined him. He took a black and white check dress from the rack. ‘This is just you. Well, a younger version of you.’
‘I like it. The checks are a bit loud, but I could wear a little black jacket with it to calm it down.’
‘Black jacket, with white patent boots and hat,’ Artie said. ‘You’ll look wonderful. You must try it on.’
‘I will. Hang onto it. I like this dress.’ Ena took down an orangey-red and cream dress. Cream at the top, red at the bottom. ‘I like the colour and it’s A-line, it’s a bit short but at least I won’t have to breathe in all night.’ She gave it to Artie to hold. ‘What about this one?’
‘Noooooooo… gathered skirts went out with the last decade. Box pleats are okay,’ he said, taking a darker red dress down. ‘Not my favourite, but worth a try.’
Ena looked at her watch. ‘We’ve been ages, I’d better try them on,’ she said, leading the way to the changing rooms. She took the dresses from Artie, giving him her handbag. ‘Hang onto this. I’ll put each dress on and you tell me what you think.’
The first dress, the black and white check, was very short. Ena came out of the changing rooms and into the shop. ‘What do you think?’ She turned around.
‘It fits. But,’ Artie said, putting his hand up to his chin, ‘There’s something about it that doesn’t look quite right. He levelled the shoulders. ‘No, it isn’t right. Try the next one.’
Ena was secretly pleased that Artie didn’t like the dress. It was far too short. Maybe if she was in her early twenties, she thought, pulling the dress over her head. She put it back on its hanger and looked at it again. No, not even then. ‘What about this,’ she said, strutting out into the shop like a model.
‘I love it. It’s just you. I love the colours; the cream at the top shows off your hair, and I love the way the collar sits away from your neck. Yes! that’s the one.’
‘I like it the best too. I like the other red dress, but not as much as this one, so I won’t bother trying it on. This,’ she said, catching sight of herself in a full-length mirror on the wall and twirling, ‘is the one.’
‘Boots?’
‘In this weather? No. I have a pair of cream kitten heels at home. They’ll go perfectly with it, and, because it has short sleeves there’s no need for a jacket.’
Having paid for the dress, Ena left the shop. She turned to Artie to again tell him how much she loved the dress, but he wasn’t with her. Squinting in the bright sunshine, she could just make out his frame against a mirror.
‘Artie?’
‘Ena, you have to try this on. It’s just right for the gallery viewing.’
‘What, trousers?’
‘Don’t be so provincial. It’s an evening trouser suit. Very arty, very fashionable, and it could be very you.’
‘Artie I don’t have time to try it now. We’ve been out of the office for an hour and a half.’
‘Stop making excuses. Put it on, it’ll take two minutes.’ Artie pushed the trouser suit into Ena’s arms.
‘Alright,’ she agreed, returning to the changing room. When she had slipped the outfit on and looked in the mirror, Ena fell in love with it. ‘Well?’ she said, dancing out of the changing room onto the shop floor.
‘I love it. It’s just you.’
Ena looked at the price and swallowed. ‘Thirty-four pounds ten shillings?’ she said, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. I can’t afford that. I can hear Henry sighing now.’
‘Will he disapprove?’
‘No. It’s just that we’ve spent a lot of money getting the office renovated and decorated and now we’re spending on the flat upstairs.’ She chewed on her bottom lip. ‘But I do love it.’
‘Then have it!’ Artie said, sighing.
Ena gave the assistant thirty-five pounds and held out a shaking hand for the ten shillings change.
‘Keep the receipt, madam, in case you need to bring the garment back,’ the assistant said.
‘She won’t be bringing it back,’ Artie replied, taking the paper carrier bag from the assistant.
***
Raised voices attracted Ena’s attention. She looked over her shoulder to where two men; one slightly built, medium height, in his mid-thirties and sounding American was arguing with an older man in his late forties, early fifties; a Londoner by the sound of his accent. Taller and much bigger, the older man was backing away from the younger one, who was jabbing his finger at him threateningly. Ena strained to hear what the men were saying but only caught the words of the American, “own” and “buddy”.
‘Ena, you have the tickets. Ena?’ Henry said again, ‘the tickets.’
‘What? Oh, I’m sorry, I…’ Ena fished the tickets that DI Powell had given her out of her handbag and handed them to a giant of a man of about thirty with broad square shoulders that appeared to be horizontal from his thick neck. He had the type of build Ena imagined a heavyweight boxer to have.
‘Welcome to La Galerie Unique, Madam, Sir,’ he said holding the door open for Ena and Henry to pass through.
‘Did you hear that barney the two men outside were having?’ Ena whispered, when they were inside the gallery.
‘No, I was keeping our place in the queue.’ Henry tutted. ‘It’s none of our business.’
‘I know, but one of the men was American and Inspector Powell said the man who found the missing Hogarth and took it to Bow Street was an American. That’s why I was listening. I wasn’t being nosy.’
Henry turned to Ena and raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course you weren’t, darling.’
Standing in line behind a dozen or more art lovers – buyers and collectors – the men in black ties, the women in long flowing arty designer dresses, Ena and Henry shuffled slowly into a large square room. ‘So, this is preview night?’ Ena said as the cluster of excited people immediately in front of them dispersed in every direction to view paintings in the gallery’s other rooms.
‘It certainly is,’ Henry agreed. ‘This is the night the seriously rich get to view the art that’s for sale and make private offers before it goes to auction. The place reeks of money.’
‘And expensive perfume.’ Ena laughed. ‘There’s so much of both, you’d have a hard time distinguishing one smell from the other.’ Ena took a glass of champagne for herself and one for Henry from a waitress weavi
ng in and out of the crowd, thanked her and kept moving forward until she was able to break ranks and find a space without someone exclaiming with amazement at the paintings they were viewing.
‘Good Lord,’ Ena said, looking at a price tag of twenty thousand pounds alongside a painting that to her looked as if someone had carelessly splashed brightly coloured paint over a large canvas.
‘Collecting works of art is an expensive game. For some people, it’s the love of beautiful things, for other’s a hobby and for some, it’s a business. Some people spend their lives going to galleries on preview night in the hopes of finding a valuable masterpiece at a low price, then they match the price hoping it won’t increase at the auction.’ Henry scanned the walls. ‘Nothing like that here tonight, I’m afraid.’
Ena put her empty glass on the tray of a passing waitress, was offered another glass of bubbly and took it. ‘Are you going to start with the oil paintings in here while I mingle?’
Henry declined a second drink. ‘Why not?’
Before they’d had time to separate, a distinguished looking woman of around thirty with short black hair cut in a stark bob with a fringe that stopped short of thinly shaped eyebrows, was making her way towards them. ‘Hello, you must be Ena and Henry, Giselle Aubrey,’ she said, shaking Ena’s hand and then Henry’s. ‘And this,’ she announced, waving at a man who was entering the gallery, ‘is my mentor, sponsor – and dear friend – Louis Mantel, without whom I would not have my beautiful La Galerie Unique.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ena could hardly believe what Giselle Aubrey was saying. Louis Mantel, her mentor and the gallery’s sponsor was one of the men she’d seen outside arguing when she and Henry arrived. She gave Henry a quick sideways look. He lowered his gaze and shook his head very slightly before looking up at Mantel. Ena brought her attention back to what the American was saying.
‘You flatter me, Giselle darling.’ He took Ena’s hand, kissed it and gave Henry a courteous nod. ‘It is Giselle who is the art connoisseur. I, alas,’ Mantel said, opening his arms, hands palms upward, ‘am only the money guy.’
Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9) Page 6